


Autoerotic Asphyxiation

by spookyawards_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-09-12
Updated: 2003-09-12
Packaged: 2019-04-27 06:01:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14419176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyawards_archivist/pseuds/spookyawards_archivist
Summary: Looking into the past we cheat ourselves of what we deserve.our hopes.our dreams. So in a way we suffocate any hope we have to learn the true nature of love.





	Autoerotic Asphyxiation

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Spooky Awards](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Spooky_Awards), and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2018. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [SpookyAwards' collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/spookyawards/profile).

 

Autoerotic Asphyxiation

## Autoerotic Asphyxiation

### by Foxhunt2blue

Title: Autoerotic Asphyxiation  
Author: Foxhunt2blue  
Summary: Looking into the past we cheat ourselves of what we deserve...our hopes...our dreams. So in a way we suffocate any hope we have to learn the true nature of love.  
Rating: R for Adult Situations  
Keywords: Mulder Angst, UST, MSR,   
Spoilers: Minor for "Clyde Bruckman's Final Repose", "Per Manum" & "Conduit"  
Feedback: Please...the muse has the munchies! ;-) E-mail: or  


* * *

In childhood we search for who we are and quite often we find ourselves lacking. When that emptiness is unexplainable we search for something...anything to fill it. 

Some of us make choices that are right, others grasp at the first thing that we believe makes us whole. More often than not that one physical thing is what destroys us, even blinds us to the truth. 

Loneliness can do that to a person. 

So can desperation, especially when you believe you can not continue alone. 

I remember an early fall morning at Oxford, a terrified, but excited eighteen year old boy who was running from a loneliness so deep that he was drowning. Sitting alone in the quad he saw the girl for the first time. 

She was tall, like him, but far from clumsy. Her limbs moved with an elegant grace that reminded him of the wild jungle cats that he had watched on "Wild Kingdom" ever Sunday. 

She was the first wrong choice, but not the last. 

I remember a spring morning at Quantico. No longer a boy, but now a quiet, talented young man. The loneliness was still there a dark, bottomless pit that had almost consumed him. Sitting alone on the bleachers at the exercise track he had seen the woman for the first time. 

Like the other she was tall with rich dark hair, but she was no girl. She was a woman, an older woman, who seemed to understand his need to discover the truth, behind his lonely mission. In her arms he had found someone who was willing to believe, to help him find what he so diligently sought. 

She was the second wrong choice, the second and the last. 

I remember another early spring morning. The young man now older, perhaps even wiser. Hunched over the lighted work space, sorting slids, then there came a soft knock on the door of his lonely basement office. 

She was so unlike the others. 

Diminutive, a tiny china doll with paler, shoulder length hair and curious blue eyes. Her handshake was firm, confident and she wasn't put off by his sarcasm. Nor was she intimidated by his height, as he loomed over her. Instead she seemed amused by his scare tactics and he imagined her hair was quite red, though all he saw was grey. 

Looking into the past we often cheat ourselves of what we deserve...our hopes...our dreams. So in a way we suffocate any hope we have to learn the true nature of love. 

Of course I never thought of it that way. All I wanted was to protect myself from one more betrayal. One more chapter in an already tattered soul. So when I first looked at her as more than a partner I was terrified. 

It was our first year together. 

A trip to Lake Okebogee. 

An abduction. 

She had looked straight through me into the core of my soul. 

<This won't bring back your sister>

That night after we had returned to Washington my heart refused to sleep as I lay staring at the ceiling. Each time I closed my eyes I could see her. 

Creamy porcelain skin. 

Full soft lips. 

The groan that tore from the pit of my stomach at the thought of her was born of a desire suppressed. A need to be touched by someone who knew me completely. My hand slid beneath the waistband of my sweats, my fingers circling around my taunt flesh. 

In my mind it was her hand that stroked me, that brought me to the edge, my body trembling. My heart began to pound as my fingers stroked and squeezed, the fire building until my back bowed. As my orgasm swept over me I gasp out one word, her name. 

"Scully...," 

Shame came over me at using her in such a way. I cried myself to sleep that night and many more to come. 

Years passed in a blur. 

My heart slowly began to accept the one truth that I refused to accept. A past filled with betrayal, with loss. So many nights were passed imagining what it would be like to just admit to her my need. But I couldn't admit that need because of the others who had come before. 

Each night as I lay alone, her image would haunt me, send me to a place I dare not go in daylight. I would find myself naked, masturbating to that image, my fingers teasing my nipples, my other hand stroking my painful erection until it burst. 

Soon my imagination was not enough and I found myself calling her to hear her voice. As we talked I would touch myself, a silent moment of self gratification, as my seed poured from my body. Some nights I would bite through my lip trying to silence my own orgasm so she would never know the extent of my own betrayal. 

* * *

Then one day it changed. 

She spoke of a need greater than any other. 

She wanted a child...she wanted me to be the father. 

Standing in the stall I studied the plastic cup, wondering if I could do this for her. A voice from years past echoed in my ears. 

Clyde Bruckman. 

What a strange thing to think of at that moment. 

Autoerotic asphyxiation. He had hinted I would die this way, in an undignified manner. A rope wrapped around my throat, my limp hand clutching, a spent erection. 

Or maybe he had meant something else. 

Maybe he had meant I would die of the loneliness. That I would allow my own sexual self gratification choke the life from my soul, from my dreams of a love so pure that I doubted I would ever find it. Or deserved it. 

I knew then at that moment that if I did this for my partner I could change that death that Bruckman had foreseen. Maybe that had been his point all along. 

Closing my eyes I thought of her in my arms, touching me, and telling me that I was loved. I could see her smiling as she moved one slim hand over her swollen belly. Another flash of her smile sent me over the edge. 

Leaning into the wall I braced myself with one hand, tears burning my eyes. I was giving something to her that I never thought that I could...a child. I felt the rope begin to loosen that had been choking me for so long. 

* * *

In her apartment that night I held her as her hope turned to a fine dust. Not only that, but I felt the rope begin to tighten again. I had wanted so much to give her something back after all that I had taken from her. 

Her tears soaked through my tee-shirt as I held her, wanting nothing more than to drop to my knees and tell her the truth. That I had loved her for years, that I wanted her no matter what the world thought. 

She didn't give me a chance. 

"I need some time." Her whisper broke my heart. 

Rather than loosen the rope I helped it tighten by walking away. I didn't go far though. 

Inside my car I sat staring at the world as it continued to turn. Joggers, young families, the laughter of children. As the sun lowered in the sky I watched through a sheen of tears, the street lights coming to life. 

Taking a deep breath I made a decision that would change my life. She was up there as alone as I was down here, both of us to damn stubborn to do anything about it. 

In a few moments I was standing outside her door, my knees knocking, my fist trembling as I brought it down on the door with a soft thump. She opened the door, wrapped in a soft cotten robe, her eyes swollen from crying. 

"Mulder?" 

"I love you." 

"I know." 

Her lips were soft as she stood on tip toe, brushing my lips with the sweetest of kisses. As her arms drew me into the dark apartment the rope fell away, allowing me to breath for the first time in years. 

The End   
  


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